IRIWE
Fiulheng, Miihing (subjugate kingdom of the Empire)
The day dawned hot as usual. Iriwe rose from her bed in the common hall of the House of Love along with three of her sisters, who murmured greetings and exchanged kisses with her as they passed her on their way to their duties. Iriwe breakfasted on ripe fruit and nut-cakes fresh from the ovens, bathed in the courtyard waterfall, and dressed in her blue gossamer robe beaded with the Eye symbol that marked her as a priestess of Miihing.
She left the House of Love for the sweltering heat of the packed-dirt street outside. Small naked children ran past her, giggling and calling out to each other, but smiles came less freely than usual from the adults she saw. She saw several people gathered in groups, whispering together, and a few she came across were crying.
“Loving Iriwe,” said a young woman, approaching her. Iriwe kissed her cheeks and her lips in greeting. “We want to know what will happen.”
“I’m going to the Temple of Closing Eyes today, my sweet,” said Iriwe. “Perhaps I will find answers.”
“Please find them. Tell Lenwei that we all cry for her and for her soul.”
“I will.”
The Temple of Closing Eyes was a great circular building made of clay and grass, painted blue. Iriwe stepped through its doors with relief, smelling the cool, incense-laden air. Another priestess approached her and cleansed her spirit with clear water spilled over her head and dabbed on her eyelids and lips.
“Where is Lenwei?” asked Iriwe when she was cleansed.
“She’s resting in the Garden of Green Fruits That Have Fallen. She will not take the blessed water or sing the Soul Songs until you have spoken with her.”
Iriwe had heard what had happened last night, while she was delivering a baby in the House of New Life. She wished she could have spoken earlier to Lenwei, but the babe had been long in coming. She had slept barely more than an hour last night. She thanked the other priestess and walked quietly through the Temple corridors, listening to a dying man singing.
The Garden of Green Fruits That Have Fallen was on the other side of the Temple, separated from the outer world by a tall blue wall. Many trees grew there, laden with fruits of every color, shape, and size. Some had already fallen and burst on the ground, and the smell of them filled Iriwe’s lungs. It was forbidden to pick or eat the fruits of this garden, but the birds didn’t know or didn’t care, and perched on the branches by the dozen, singing their sweet songs and pecking at the fruits. Lenwei lay in a hammock tied between two orange trees, staring up at the sky.
“My sweet Lenwei,” said Iriwe, sitting on a stool carved from a tree trunk next to the hammock. Lenwei looked up. Her lovely dark eyes filled with tears that quickly spilled down her soft brown cheeks.
“Loving Iriwe,” said the girl, her voice soft. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”
“They told me I would die. But my soul isn’t ready. Is it true that if I die before my soul is ripe, it won’t blossom again in the Garden Beyond? Oh, I heard the most horrible stories. Eternal darkness, the sun blocked off by the branches of the other soul-trees, unable to grow….”
“That’s not true. Your soul is green, but you can prepare it.”
“Truly?” Lenwei gazed up at her hopefully. “Truly, I can?”
“Of course. Everyone cries for you and your soul, and their tears will water it in the Garden Beyond, and you will grow tall once more. You must be cleansed and sing the Soul Songs and meditate. I will help you.”
“Thank you, Iriwe….”
“Who was it, my sweet? Who attacked you?” Iriwe could see the bandages covering the young woman’s body through the thin material of her robe. “You must tell me.”
“It was a soldier,” said Lenwei in a whisper. “A soldier from Gyoto. His name was Fogos, I think. He was in the village drinking with other soldiers last night.”
They would be long gone back to the outpost by now, but it was no matter. Iriwe would find this man. “He will see justice,” she promised. “Now, are you ready?”
“Yes.” Lenwei took her hand. “If you will help me.”
The day was long and hard. Iriwe performed the cleansing rites on Lenwei and led the young woman through the many-versed Song of Life, a song that sounded deep in the singer’s chest, and brought to mind images of everything they had ever lived―even a person’s own birth, sometimes. Iriwe remembered her childhood, the death of her friend Bewei here in this very temple, her loves and her happiness, her dawns and her sunsets, her tears and the voices of the ones who comforted her. Lenwei said she remembered only one summer afternoon many years ago, when her mother had showed her a butterfly they found in the forest. “This butterfly has the eyes of the Great Tree of Life,” Lenwei’s mother had told her. “It sends its children sometimes, to watch over us.”
“Is that true?” Lenwei asked Iriwe in a whisper, after telling her the story.
“Everything you truly believe is a truth of your soul,” said Iriwe.
The priestesses carried Lenwei back to a little dark room and lit candles and incense as they laid the young woman out on a soft bed in the corner. Then Iriwe sang the Song of Death, equally long as the Song of Life but more joyful―she felt it all the way from her toes to her fingertips, resonating through her and through Lenwei as the girl meditated. The Song of Death stirred the soul, preparing it to leave its body. Iriwe had sung it many times before, and every time she felt her soul test the boundaries of her body a little more. Not yet, she knew. Not for her. But for Lenwei, it was time.
When she finished, Lenwei opened her eyes.
“How do you feel?” asked Iriwe.
“I’m still afraid.”
Fear had no place in the Temple of the Closing Eyes. But Lenwei was a plucked soul, taken before her time, and fear meant that her soul was not yet ripe enough to blossom again in the Garden Beyond.
Iriwe brought herbs from the storeroom, the leaves of a plant that grew in the heart of the forest, and burned them in a little bowl. Soon their scent filled the room.
“Remember the butterfly. It is a sign from your soul. Listen to your soul. Hear what it tells you. Close your eyes, sweet Lenwei. Let yourself float. Let go of your fear. Let go of your anger. Float. A soul is weightless.”
Still Lenwei was afraid. Her fear had taken root in her, and wouldn’t let her go. “I’m trying,” she sobbed. “But I’m still afraid.”
“Think of the butterfly. Why did you remember it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think of your mother. Think of the forest on that afternoon. Think of the words she said, and of the butterfly. What does it mean? Search yourself, girl. Don’t cringe from searching yourself. Inside, you’re always safe. Nothing can harm you inside.”
“I don’t know!”
Iriwe had a younger priestess fetch a butterfly from the Garden. She came back with it in a jar, and Iriwe released it inside the room. Lenwei watched it fly around with blurred eyes for several minutes.
The butterfly grew clumsy from the scent of the herbs and flew around in circles. Finally, it landed on Lenwei’s finger. “Oh,” she said, and closed her eyes. “That’s it. Iriwe,” she continued slowly, softly, so that Iriwe had to lean close to hear her. “I am not afraid.”
Lenwei died a little while before dusk. Iriwe was exhausted, but helped the other priestesses prepare the young woman for burial.
At midnight, the procession carried Lenwei into the depths of the forest. Unlike most funerals, it was silent. Iriwe led them along the trail through the trees and tangled vines, holding an oil lamp to light the way.
They buried her in darkness, except for the little yellow light from the lamp. Iriwe led the others in solemn prayer, and they all wept to help Lenwei’s soul blossom in the Garden Beyond. Not everyone in the village had come, but near enough. There was no drink or laughter or love, and afterward they all slept on the bare ground, to watch over the grave until dawn.
The next day Iriwe returned to the House of Love, where she broke her day-long fast. She had seldom felt so utterly exhausted. She sat in the courtyard by the waterfall, her mind too confused and full to make sense of anything. After a while, Jilini came to sit beside her.
“It’s been almost twenty years since the last plucked soul in this village,” said the other priestess. Jilini had been Iriwe’s closest friend since they had taken their vows together as young women.
“I remember,” said Iriwe.
“What will you do?”
“I have to go to the military outpost and speak to the officer in charge.”
“A frightening idea.”
“Yes, but it must be done.” She got to her feet, and Jilini stood as well. “It’s over half a day’s walk. I’d better get started.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. You’re needed here, sister.” Iriwe kissed her. “I’ll see you when I return. We’ll have justice then.”
She set out from the village along a trail through the orchard. At first, children trailed along behind her, singing and climbing trees and chasing each other back and forth. She saw some workers harvesting the summer fruits among the canopy, and exchanged greetings. But after two miles the planted trees gave way to a small meadow, followed by a tangle of wild jungle, and she left all human company behind.
Above and around her, birds and monkeys screeched and rustled the leaves, climbing from tree to tree. She could feel the thick, heavy air covering her skin with sweat and she breathed a little harder, but she didn’t slow down. She had wandered these jungles all her life, and she could keep up her pace for hours. The soldiers and their horses had left an open trail that made the going easier than it should have been. It made her uneasy to see how deeply they’d marred her jungle. She stopped at midday to eat and rest awhile in the darkest shade she could find, and then continued.
The sun dipped toward the horizon as she reached a break in the jungle and came onto a rocky area cut across by rivers and waterfalls. Iriwe pulled off her sandals to cross, her bare feet finding better purchase on the wet, slimy rocks. Every now and then she had to stoop to clear away the algae with her hands.
By the time she heard the sounds of human habitation up ahead, she welcomed the chance to stop. Ten years ago she would have had an easier time of it.
In a clearing up ahead rose the outpost. A collection of shabby constructions gradually being converted into permanent buildings gathered around a central two-story Gyoto-style building, with a red sweeping gabled roof and carved columns in the front, although instead of glass it had shutters, like most houses in the jungle.
Two soldiers on horseback intercepted her before she could enter the complex. They both wore decidedly hostile expressions.
“What do you want?” asked the one with whiskers, whose darker skin combined with narrower eyes marked him as half-Miihing, half-Gyoto. His Miihingese was rusty, but intelligible.
“I wish to speak to your commanding officer.”
“He’s busy.”
“I’ll wait as long as necessary, but I will see him.”
The half-Miihing soldier said a few words in Dhogyo to his companion. “What do you want see him for?”
“An affair of the law. I will only speak of it with him.”
“The law?” asked the soldier, as if he’d never heard of such a thing before. “What law?”
“The law of religious freedom instituted by Queen Fagheno Tafeghar of Miihing. It allows priestesses anointed by the Religion of Love to punish religious crimes executed by, against, and within their communities.”
“What’s that do with the colonel?” asked the soldier.
“I said I would only speak of it with him. If you don’t take me to him, you’re breaking the Queen’s law. You don’t want to do that, do you?”
The soldier translated for the other and they conferred for a moment. Then irritably, he looked back at her. “Follow us. We take you to the colonel.”
She didn’t need taking; anyone with any sense could see which building the colonel inhabited. But she followed along behind the horses, ignoring the stares of the other soldiers they passed as they crossed the hoof-beaten turf to the center of the outpost. Here the soldiers dismounted and escorted her through the door into a small room with a red carpet and a carved wooden statue of Empress Aqetoyo in one corner.
“Stay,” the half-Miihing soldier told her, and went through the door into another room. The other soldier stood beside her silently, hand on the hilt of his sword, refusing to meet her eyes.
A moment later the soldier re-emerged and asked her to leave her knife and her pack in this room. Wondering if she would see either item again, Iriwe passed through the second door and entered a larger room.
Here on a pile of red silk cushions sat a man about her age with a jowly chin and a bulging belly, surrounded by shelves of silver trinkets, books, and crystal bottles full of liquors and wines. Silk curtains embroidered with ships and birds fluttered at the windows, and strange incense burned in one corner, filling the room with a scent she’d never smelt before.
“What’s your name?” asked the man in better Miihingese than his soldier, although Iriwe could see he didn’t have a drop of Miihing blood in him.
“Priestess Iriwe Weifun. I come from the village of Fiulheng, some sixteen miles from here.”
“Hmm. And you have a matter of law to discuss with me?” She could tell he had no interest whatsoever in what she had to say, but the law required him to hear her.
“Yes. Two days ago, some of your soldiers went to Fiulheng. They spent time at our drinking house, and then one of them, Fogos, attacked a young woman named Lenwei. She died yesterday.”
“I see.” He sighed. “Well, the law requires me to punish my men for crimes against civilians, if there’s proof. Do you have proof?”
“You don’t understand, Coronel. The law authorizes me to punish your soldier. I’m the one who must determine if the proof is enough to punish him.”
“The law of religious freedom.” The coronel chuckled. She did not know what he found funny about the situation. “That applies to violations of your religious beliefs, priestess. You have no authority to punish my soldiers….”
“Your soldier violated a sacred law of our religion. He disrespected the soul of a living person, who is a member of our religion, by―”
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman. He was drunk, and there may have been an accident. There’s nothing religious about this. If I punished my soldiers every time one of you came to me with a story like this, I’d lose half of them. It’s unfortunate that the girl died, but it’s hardly the soldier’s fault. You gave him the drink. And I don’t see any proof.”
“Coronel,” said Iriwe firmly, “Our religion protects the rights of all people to make their own choices and conserve their lives until their soul is ripe enough to fall of its own accord. If you don’t bring the soldier to Fiulheng to answer for his crimes, you will be violating the Queen’s law.”
“Miihing scum.” The coronel spat. “Condemn you all to the Void. I’ve heard your excuses before. You make up that religion of yours as you go, I swear you do. Whatever benefits you the most.” He stood. “I’m in charge of these men. I punish them as I see fit. Did they profane your temple? Did they prevent you from doing one of your ridiculous celebrations? No? Then they didn’t commit a religious crime. And unless you give me proof that one of my men was at fault, I won’t take any action. Is that clear enough for you?”
“I will not leave until you agree to take this soldier Fogos to Fiulheng to answer for his crimes.”
“Damn you, woman, I’ve humored you long enough.” He barked an order in Dhogyo and the two soldiers entered. “Walk out that door,” said the coronel, pointing. “I don’t want the trouble of arresting a priestess, so do us both a favor and leave.”
“You have not done as I asked,” said Iriwe evenly. “I will not leave until you do.”
The coronel threw up a hand in irritation and gave the soldiers another order. Most of the Dhogyo Iriwe had learned as a child had faded from her memory, but it wasn’t hard to guess what the man had said. The soldiers took her by the arms and pulled her out of the building, unresisting. They marched her to a much shabbier construction, low and muddy, as the soldiers outside looked on. They took her through the door and to a small cell to one side, shoved her in, and closed and locked the door behind her.
Iriwe caught her balance and sedately took a seat on the packed earth floor. She would wait for as long as it took.